


Rust Stained

by inamamagic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:58:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamamagic/pseuds/inamamagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Harry Potter is due back for his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, but it soon transpires that it's not just N.E.W.Ts he has to be worried about. After a rogue Dementor corners him and Dudley in an alleyway in Muggle London, Harry confides in Hermione and Ron, who unearth more secrets as they listen in on the adults after dinner at The Burrow. Things heat up when they get back to school and find out that anti-Muggle sentiments are now at an all time high. As Harry and co. struggle to deal with exams, Quidditch, and finding someone to date on top of the growing tension, the upcoming elections for Minister for Magic take a dark turn, and threaten to change the course of magical society as they know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

James Potter fans himself.

“Sweltering innit?” he says. A few people milling around the entrance of the restaurant stare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Harry, why don’t you give one of your cooling charms a bit of practice? Flitwick mentioned something about you needing to buck up, go on --”

The stares become questioning, and Harry spots someone raise an eyebrow. Lily purses her lips.

“If that wand comes out of your pocket, do not expect to see your Firebolt for the rest of the summer,” she says under her breath.

James leans closer to Harry, whispering loud enough for Lily to hear.”

“Might want to practice your Cheering Charms while you’re at it.”

Lily shoots James a glare so venomous that Harry is almost surprised that his father’s face hasn’t melted right off. A sleek grey car pulls up to the entrance of the restaurant and a young woman in a silky green dress rushes out to greet the group who has been waiting for her.

James walks over to Lily and puts an arm around her shoulder.

“Look,” he says in a gentler voice. “I know you’re stressed out about this. But it’s only going to be two hours. Hopefully less, depending on how fast the food gets done. And you can trust Harry and I not to break the Statute of Secrecy.”

Lily clears her throat and James sighs. Harry watches the crowd by the door slip into the restaurant, leaving the three of them standing alone in the stifling summer evening.

“We won’t rile them up, we promise,” says James.

“Don’t you mean you won’t rile them up?” sniggers Harry.

James gives Lily a wide grin and shoots a jinx at Harry behind her back. Harry dodges, just barely, and feels a whoosh of air as the jinx hits a potted plant by the door. The leaves shudder and curl in on themselves before shaking and returning to normal.

It was the summer before Harry’s seventh and final year at Hogwarts, and the three Potters were waiting for the Dursleys to join them for dinner. Harry tries to smooth down his hair, shifting uncomfortably in his dinner jacket and contemplating taking his father up on his word and actually casting a cooling charm around them.

After having tried and failed for years to patch things up with her sister, Lily, who’d refused to give up, had insisted on annual dinners at any restaurant of the Dursley’s choice, with the Potters footing the bill. Harry always dreads these dinners. They always start the same – Lily’s calmness slowly giving way to irritability as the day approaches, proceeding to increase James’ cockiness as he tries and fails to cheer her up. Harry, as usual, is caught smack dab in the middle (sometimes with the cat as a buffer).

But he has to admit that it’s better than watching his mother travel back and forth the Muggle way, with nothing to show for each tiring journey but tears. James of course, copes by cracking jokes and making retorts that can risk earning him a heavy fine if he was overheard by a Ministry official.

As he watches James trying to soothe Lily, he wonders for the umpteenth time, why she bothers making an effort at all. But then again, he supposes, it’s just like his father’s constant efforts at trying to get Peter Pettigrew involved with the family, despite Peter making less and less of an effort as the years pass by.

“They’re here,” says Lily, smoothing down the front of her blue dress and taking a deep breath. Harry and James shift around in their dinner jackets as a car pulls up in front of the restaurant. Harry raises an eyebrow – this one is bigger and shinier than the one they had last year. The valet rushes towards the door, and the three Dursleys step out of the car.

Vernon Dursley looks furious as usual, face screwed up, red as a beetroot, breathing in short spasms as he approaches them, mustache twitching ever so slightly. Petunia Dursley has her lips pursed, and her hands clutched tight around a sturdy blue handbag. Neither one of them spare Harry a glance, choosing instead to acknowledge only Lily with a glare.

Dudley Dursley however, is bereft of his usual haughty expression. Instead, he makes eye contact with his cousin, and they exchange slight nods that go unnoticed by both sets of parents. The corners of Harry’s mouth flick upwards in the merest semblance of a smile, and Dudley relaxes. Neither of them would’ve thought they’d ever get to a point where they could be civil with each other, until nearly a week ago.

“Petunia, Vernon, so pleased you came,” says Lily, and Harry notices the tightness around her face and shoves the desire to shout at his aunt and make her respond. Petunia stands, much like the plant James had jinxed, curled up and closed, using her handbag as a shield against Lily, who stops and drops her outstretched hand when no one shakes it.

Vernon grunts, and Harry notices a muscle twitching in James’ jaw – always a bad sign.

“Potter.”

“Dursley.”

Harry and Dudley exchange looks again.

“Well, why don’t we go inside,” smiles Lily, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Harry takes a deep breath, shoves his hands into his pockets, and keeps his gaze trained on the ground.

The air-conditioned interior of the restaurant is a cool relief from the heat. Vernon and Petunia give them a wide berth, as though walking far from them will help disassociate from them. James is holding Lily’s hand, and Dudley and Harry bring up the rear. There aren’t very many people inside, a fact for which Harry is grateful. If anything does happen, at least their mortification won’t be witnessed by too many people.

The maitre d’ shows them to their table, and the Potters sit across from the Dursleys. As he sits down, Harry notices that his parents seem slightly jumpier than usual. James’ eyes keep flicking around, his right hand constantly jumping towards his left sleeve, under which, Harry knows, he keeps his wand in a holster. Lily too, seems oddly distracted.

Harry exchanges glances with Dudley again and wonders whether he should be worried. Just in case, he moves his wand from the back pocket of his jeans to the inner pocket on his jacket as he sits down. No one seems to notice.

Soft classical music plays over the speakers. The waiter comes by with the menus, sleek and grey with thin gold edging. Harry opens his and hides behind it. Dudley mirrors him.

“How’s work Vernon?” asks Lily.

“Brilliant,” says Vernon with a smirk and a condescending glance at James, who doesn’t notice, as he’s squinting at the menu. “I’m the MD now. Got me that car and a month long cruise in July.”

“That’s wonderful,” says Lily, glancing over the top of Petunia’s head to a spot near the door and frowning. “Congratulations.”

“Managed a decent job yet?” sneers Vernon, and James looks up. Harry takes a deep breath and shifts in his chair.

“Oh yeah, yeah, I make a living experimenting on Muggles,” snaps James. Lily gasps and Harry’s eyes widen as he starts. Dudley and Petunia look appalled.

“That was in bad taste,” says Lily, shooting a glare at her husband. “I apologise. James works at the Department of Ma – the Department of Law Enforcement.”

“Doing what, spying on us ‘poor non-magical folk’?” sniggers Vernon, making air quotes as he leans back in his chair. “Finally realised that broomsticks and cauldrons and all that nonsense aren’t enough for a fully functioning society, eh?”

James is turning red and Harry decides that this is not something he wants to witness.

“Excuse me,” he says, springing up from his seat. “Mum, if the waiter comes by, just get me a glass of water and uh, a spaghetti Bolognese please.” Lily nods and Harry heads towards the back of the restaurant, following the bright green signs on the walls.

The bathroom is a welcome respite – despite the coolness of the restaurant, the tension makes the table a hot and uncomfortable place to sit at. There is no one else inside. Harry stares at his reflection in the large mirror in front of him, and then begins to wash his hands.

The door flings open and he jumps, but calms down when he sees that it’s only Dudley, and not his father, who would’ve probably burst the pipes in the place.

“I’m sorry,” begins Harry, but Dudley shakes his head.

“Should be me that’s apologising,” he says. “Mine could be trying a bit harder too.”

Harry shrugs, not wanting to agree outright. Dudley doesn’t say anything for a while, and fidgets with a package he is holding.

“So… what’s up?” asks Harry, grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser and drying his hands. “Everything alright? Since… yeah…”

“That’s – that’s actually why…” Dudley starts, but pauses, and just hands him the package instead. Harry frowns. He balls up the napkins and tosses them into the dustbin before taking the package.

“What’s this?”

“Found it,” says Dudley. “In the alley.”

Harry opens the crumpled paper to find a solid silver pendant, heavy and cold, with an unsettling pattern of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth engraved on the front. He doesn’t recognize it, but when he runs a finger over the carving, it gives him a strange chill that he’s sure is more than just nerves.

“Yeah, it feels a bit funny to hold onto for too long,” says Dudley, as Harry tries to suppress a shudder. “Figured I should give it to you so your – your people can check it out.”

"Thanks Dudley," says Harry, covering the pendant with the paper again and shoving it in his pocket. "What were you doing back there anyway?"

Dudley fidgets harder and his eyes don’t quite reach Harry’s. “I had to go check, you know?” he says in a low voice. “Been having nightmares.”

Harry is torn between concern for Dudley, and not knowing whether giving him access to magical care would constitute a breach in the Statute of Secrecy. But as he stares at his cousin, he knows there are bound to be exceptions for things like this. He can’t imagine Dudley telling anyone about what happened. Petunia would probably balk at the news, and Vernon… well…

“I’ll get Mum to talk to you,” he says finally.

“Thought you weren’t gonna tell your parents,” says Dudley.

“I’m not,” says Harry. “We can just say someone jinxed you or something, and you’ve just – you’ve just been, uh, unsettled, since then.”

Dudley nods slowly, and Harry rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, not knowing what else to say. A part of him just wants to talk to Dudley about it, but the other part wants to forget it ever happened.

“Have you been getting nightmares?” asks Dudley after a while. Harry nods, but doesn’t look at him.

“This stuff…” he says finally. “This kind of thing… I mean – those things? That’s not normal. No, I mean,” he says, as a flash of fear shows on Dudley’s face. “They’re normal.”

“They’re normal?” he says, sounding half incredulous. Harry marvels at how he manages to keep his voice level. If it had been him on the receiving end, he’s sure he would’ve been shrieking by now.

“They – they’re… urgh, how do I explain this…” he says, beginning to pace. If Dudley’s going to deal with this, it’s best he knows the truth. “They’re dark creatures, they’re called Dementors, and they feed off despair.”

Dudley opens his mouth, and then closes it, and opens it again.

“They’re well – they’re not _normal_ I suppose, no dark creature is really, they’re usually a kind of awful side effect of someone’s crazy experiments, or so my friend says – but anyway,” he says, as Dudley is beginning to look petrified. “They’re not meant to be out in the open. They guard the prison. Our prison, I mean.”

“ _Those things_ guard your prison?” says Dudley, finding his voice. “What the – aren’t regular wizards good enough?”

“Well, I suppose,” begins Harry, and then stops. He’s never actually bothered to think about why the Dementors guard Azkaban, never thought of questioning it.

Neither boy says anything for a moment. Harry is still pondering over the ethics of keeping Dementors in Azkaban when Dudley speaks again.

“So what was this one doing out?” Harry blinks.

“Oh?” He combs his mind for an answer and comes up blank. Shrugging slightly, he gives his cousin an apologetic look. “Ah, well, I dunno actually.”

“You don’t know?” says Dudley.

“They’re not – well, I actually don’t know,” says Harry. “That’s what’s been bothering me.”

Dudley’s face clouds over, and Harry feels a pang of sympathy.

“Chocolate helps,” he says, remembering something that Remus had told him once. “For a while at least. Not a permanent solution.”

“So what would be a permanent solution?” says Dudley. Harry clenches his fists and takes a deep breath.

“I’ll have to ask,” he says. “But – don’t worry too much about it. It was probably a one off thing. A really unlucky one off thing.”

Dudley looks disbelieving, but sighs.

“Thanks though,” he says. “Again.”

Harry shakes his head. “It wasn’t all me.”

“Still,” he says, taking another deep breath. “If you hadn’t tried at first – you saved my life,” he mumbles.

Harry smiles awkwardly at this exclamation and Dudley looks reserved.

“Well, consider it compensation for our parent’s shitty attitudes,” he chuckles.

Dudley snorts, and the tension breaks. For a moment, they get to pretend that there were no barriers between them, that they are nothing but normal cousins, and that the difference in magical blood and parental enmity had never separated them.

A crash outside brings them back to their senses. The smiles slide off their faces and they exchange worried glances.

“You don’t think –” says Dudley.

“Probably,” says Harry grimly. “We’d better go.”

They run outside. It’s a disaster. Not only are other patrons staring, but a glass of water has been upended, and a broken plate lies in front of James. Both sets of parents are standing up and James and Vernon are staring daggers at each other. Lily looks distraught and Petunia looks like she wants nothing more than to vanish on the spot.

Dudley swears under his breath and Harry grimaces.

The maitre d’ is hovering by their table, unsure of whether to approach, and frankly, Harry doesn’t blame him. James is barely holding on, his hair looks like it’s been electrified, and his hand is inches away from where his wand is. On top of this, Vernon is as red as a beetroot and looks about ready to explode.

“That’s it!” Vernon hisses, as Harry and Dudley approach. “I’ve put up with this nonsense for eleven years now, but this is enough! This is the last straw, you hear? We don’t want to be associated with freaks like you!”

“Yeah, well, it’s no big loss,” retorts James, almost putting his hands on the shards of the plate, but Lily tugs his arm away. “I’ve been telling Lily it’s no use for years, that there’s no point trying to make amends with someone who hates her for something she can’t control, but she wouldn’t listen, you know why? Because she actually has a damn heart, unlike the two of you.”

Harry and Petunia both grow pale. Dudley’s eyes widen.

“James…” says Lily, her arm still on James’, but he ignores her.

“I’ve kept my mouth shut since we first met them, but you and I both know this isn’t fair. This is bullshit, we’ve put in all the effort, draining our vault, for what? What did we waste all our time for?”

“Well it’s not our fault you’re being followed now is it?” sneers Vernon. Harry wants to hex him, before his words register.

“We’re being followed?” he echoes. “By whom?”

“Just the Prophet,” snarls James, turning heel and storming out of the restaurant. Lily hovers by the table, glancing at Petunia as tears fill her eyes, and then, clenching her fists, follows her husband out the door.

Silence descends over the restaurant. Vernon is panting, and Petunia picks up her handbag. Harry looks at Dudley, who looks worried.

“You’ll hear from me,” he says. Dudley nods.

“Threatening my son now are we?” bellows Vernon. Harry glares at him.

“Didn’t think speaking to my cousin was a crime,” he says coolly, before turning away from his aunt and uncle for the final time and walking out of the restaurant.

***

“How dare they?” spits James, as he storms into the house, slamming the door behind him. Lily is quiet and pale. Harry heads towards the staircase, figuring it will be wisest for him to hide until the storm is over.

“What’s up?” asks Sirius, hurrying into the foyer, Remus at his heels. Both of them have been staying over since July – well, _Sirius_ has been staying over since July. Remus has been living there ever since he lost his job.

“They – they f – they –” James’ words are lost in a stream of incoherent swearing. Sirius and Remus glance at Lily, who walks into the kitchen without a word. James storms into the living room. Both pairs of eyes then swivel towards Harry, who has found himself stuck on the first step of the staircase.

“I dunno if he’s referring to the Dursleys or the Prophet reporter to be honest,” he shrugs.

“Both!” screams James, storming back into the living room, looking deranged. “Both! It’s bad enough to have to watch has my wife’s heart breaks over that – that – that _codfish_ of a sister –”

Sirius and Remus avoid each other’s eyes.  
  
“Those bloody reporters following us around, trying to fuck up everything – _James Potter’s Muggle wife spotted in Muggle London – Harry potter’s Squibby Secret – James Potter’s Muggle Fetish –_ why is this news?”

“No one respectable reads the Prophet anymore, Prongs,” says Remus quietly. “It’s full of anti-Muggle propaganda; anyone with half a brain understands that.”

‘Tell that to Lucius Malfoy and his sycophants,” snarls James. “Every time I walk into the Ministry, I have to fight the urge to hex his bloody bollocks off.”

Harry takes this as his cue to leave.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he bounds upstairs, leaps into the room and shuts the door. He can still hear James shouting downstairs.

 _The Daily Prophet_ has never been the best source of news, but lately, even Harry has noticed their growing anti-Muggle stance. Of course, there’s never anything that could be considered blatant discrimination, but the little jokes woven into articles, or headlines like the ones James had repeated (verbatim), has served to make it clear that there was still a fair amount of people that believed that Muggles (and consequently, Muggleborns) were second class. The letters to the editor are positively depressing.

Lying back on his bed, Harry sighs as he stares at the ceiling, watching the players on his Irish National Quidditch team poster fly about. He misses his friends, and wishes he can talk to them without having to resort to owls all the time. Of course, he can Floo right over to the Granger’s with Ron, but the constant redistribution of soot was a bit of a hazard. Since Hermione doesn’t want to do anything that could potentially get them into trouble, they haven’t used magic in her house, even though all three of them are of age. Despite the inconvenience, Harry knows she’s right. With their parents’ erratic moods, their new curfews, and the Ministry declaring odd new laws every couple of weeks, it seems best to stay cautious.

He thoughts drift to Hogwarts, and as he watches Ryan make a save on the poster above him, he realises with a groan that he is going to have to hold tryouts _again_. They need a new Chaser now that Katie Bell has left, and even though he knows he can just get Dean on the team permanently, he knows that next year’s captain is just going to have to replace three members once he, Dean, and Ron leave.

He needs a reserve team. A whole team to train, so no one will be forced to find someone last minute and train them three weeks before a match, like they usually have to.

Ryan dives for another spectacular save, and Harry sits up. The shouts seem to have died down.

He glances in the direction of his desk, and with another groan, realises that he still hasn’t started Snape’s essay. The one that even Hermione has sworn had taken her over a month to complete.

And they are due back at Hogwarts in three weeks.

_Well shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to say that I fill in tags as I go along. Please feel free to point out any errors or inconsistencies, and thanks for reading :)


	2. Chapter 2

James had been wrong.

As it turns out, it hadn’t been someone from the _Prophet_ that had followed them, it had been a reporter from _Wicked_. Not that it makes things any easier.

 _The Potters and their Sunday out with the Muggles_ , screams the front cover. There is a black and white picture of James flipping the bird at the camera, whilst Vernon shouts something behind him.

Harry pays the post owl with a Sickle that Molly has left on the table, and it takes off in a flurry of grey feathers and loud hoots. 

“Got anything that needs a good wiping down, Molly?” asks Lily, eyeing the cover.

“The broom shed could use some cleaning,” says Molly distractedly, as she takes a pot of sauce off the stove whilst attempting to makes sure her stew continues to be stirred. “But the children will take care of it – Lily? Lily!”

For Lily has snatched the magazine and stormed out of the kitchen.

Harry grimaces.

“Need any help Mrs. Weasley?” he asks.

“Oh no thank you dear, I’m almost done,” says Molly, turning back to the stove with a small frown on her face. “But it would be wonderful if you could take the cutlery out, and tell Ron to help with the plates.”

She waves her wand, extinguishing the flames from under the pots, and hurries outside.

“RON!” bellows Harry, who has been wondering why he has found himself alone in the Weasleys’ kitchen when he should be with Ron and Hermione. His question is nearly immediately answered however, when the pair walks in together with secret smiles on their faces.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Plates, please.”

‘Since when did you become Mum?” smirks Ron. Harry hurls a spoon at his head, and he stops it with a lazy flick of his wand.

“So what have you two been up to anyway?”  asks Harry, as they take what seems to be the Weasleys’ entire stock of cutlery and crockery into the garden.

Ron sniggers, and Hermione turns a deep red.

“Okay, maybe I don’t want to know then,” says Harry quickly.

As they set down the plates, Ginny comes over to help. She smiles at Harry, who winks back, and makes a face whilst gesturing at the other two. Ginny makes a gagging notion, and both of them chuckle.

Harry and Ginny had dated briefly over the previous year, but it hadn’t worked out as well as expected. Despite the breakup, they’d managed to remain on good terms, and Harry knows he’s lucky. Ginny is a good friend, and losing her would’ve made things difficult, as avoiding her would’ve been impossible.

He walks around the table to set more plates, and finds himself next to Ron.

“Oh hey,” says Ron, as he puts down a fork. “What was that thing you were gonna tell us?”

Harry opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it and shakes his head.

“Uh… I think I forgot,” he says, giving his best friend a warning glance. Ron frowns for a moment, but then he spots Ginny behind him.

“Oh okay,” he says. “Whatever .”

Even though Ginny is one of his closest friends, there are certain things that Harry only ever shares with Ron and Hermione. They’d stuck by him through all his adventures at Hogwarts, from the daring after-hours Hogsmeade excursions, to stranger times that included battling a mountain troll that had found its way into the girl’s bathroom during their first year.

“Your mum seemed really upset when I bumped into her earlier,” says Ginny, straightening a glass. “What’s all that about?”

“Oh, that,” says Harry, and launches into the story of the disastrous dinner with the Dursleys. Hermione has a small frown on her face that grows deeper the longer Harry speaks. Ginny looks concerned, and Ron seems torn between amusement and worry.

“D’you reckon she’s upset about the magazine then?” asks Ron. Harry shakes his head.

“Nah, she doesn’t care about it all that much, it’s Dad that gets riled up over it all the time,” he says. “She’s just cut up over the fact that my aunt won’t bother.”

“Well, she should be,” says Hermione. “I mean, she’s been making all the effort all this time hasn’t she? It’s been years, and it’s not like your aunt’s saying no to any of it either, she’s sort of just stringing your mum along.”

“Yeah, that’s just harsh mate,” says Ron.  Ginny nods.

“I honestly don’t think she should keep trying,” says Hermione. “I mean, if she’s just going to keep getting hurt…”

“Yeah, Dad keeps saying that,” says Harry, putting down the last plate. “But you know Mum.”

“Mmhmm,” says Ron.

Suddenly, a Quaffle lands right in the middle of the table, scattering dishes and upending a jug. One of the plates lands on the grass and cracks right down the middle. Ginny swears, but Harry takes out his wand and points it at the plate.

“ _Reparo_.”

“Hey, pigheads!” shouts Ron, tossing the Quaffle back at Fred and George who have come to retrieve it. “Watch it!”

“Sorry!” shouts Fred, not looking very sorry at all, as Harry and Hermione clear the mess. Ron makes an irritated noise but Ginny chuckles as she begins to straighten things.

“I heard about the Bludgers,” says Harry, waving his wand once again. “ _Scourgify_.”

Everything that was once on the grass is spotless again. Hermione surveys the scene with a satisfied look on her face.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a while before we can get a new set,” says Ron. “They’ve been putting all their savings into developing their new line of Skiving Snackboxes. I think they’ve sold enough to cover the deposit for a space in Diagon Alley, but I’ve been to see the place they were considering, it’s the size of a broom closet.”

“If they spend that on the shop they won’t have enough to develop new stuff,” says Ginny.

“Still haven’t found a backer?” says Harry.

“Nope,” says Ron. “Lee’s helped out a bit, and of course, some people who liked their stuff back in school have put in a bit of gold, but it’s still not enough, and Zonko’s is still outselling them.”

“But their stuff’s really good,” exclaims Harry.

“Yeah,” says Ron. “But without enough gold to develop new products…” He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Not gonna be easy eh? Their jobs barely cover it, they’re spending everything they earn on that stuff.”

“And they’re still operating as an owl-order service, so it’s not just reaching enough people, even with the advertising,” says Ginny. “People want to see the products before they order. So they only market they have right now is Hogwarts.”

“The cost of ad-space in the _Prophet_ just went up a whole Galleon,” says Hermione.

“Seriously?” says Ron, as Ginny grimaces.

“Damn…” says Harry, turning to look at the twins, who are still attempting to bewitch the Quaffle at the far end of the garden. He can afford to give them a fair start, at least enough to work for six solid months, but he knows they’ll never accept.

There are voices from the doorway of the kitchen, and all of them look to see Molly and Lily bringing out the food, with James and Sirius having conjured a rickety little cart to transport the rest.

“Couldn’t you have just levitated them all?” asks Ron, as they draw level with them.

“And have all my hard work go to waste?” asks Molly, as she sets down a large pot of soup in the middle of the table. The smell is mouth-watering.

“Might want to cast a Shield Charm over the table then,” says Harry. “You never know when Fred and George’s Quaf –”

Molly looks livid.

“Time to go,” mutters Ron, and the four of them scurry away. Molly’s voice fills the garden.

“I LET YOU DEVELOP THOSE PRODUCTS ON ONE CONDITION –”

“Mum still thinks they’re gonna end up bankrupt,” says Ron.

“But they won’t,” says Hermione, and Ron looks at her in disbelief. Hermione has always been the least overtly supportive of the twins, always quick to point out the cons and obstacles, whilst everyone else wants to focus on the benefits.

“They really are struggling, Hermione,” says Ron.

“They’re making enough to cover their costs,” says Hermione. “I don’t think they’ve made a major loss in months.”

“Tell that to Mum,” says Ron. “I don’t think she’ll rest until she sees their shop up and running.”

“I don’t think Fred and George’ll rest either,” says Ginny. “Either way, they’ll keep working towards the same thing, so isn’t that a good thing?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all laugh.

“You have a point there,” says Harry. “Who else is coming for dinner, by the way?”

“Just Remus,” says Ron.

“Right, I need to get dressed before that,” says Ginny. “See you in a bit.”

She skips towards the house. Harry turns to face Ron and Hermione.

"Alright, if we don't talk now we're never gonna talk," he says.

"Broom shed," says Ron immediately, and the three of them make a beeline to the dilapidated hut. They pile inside, and Harry finds himself squashed between Ron and a smelly old broom. Hermione locks the door and casts a shield around them.

"It'll keep us from being overheard," she says. 

"That's why we keep you around," grins Ron. Hermione rolls her eyes.

"Is that the only reason?"

"You know it's one of the many wonderful reasons…"

"Guys!" says Harry. "Can we focus? Please?"

"Right, sorry mate, go on," grins Ron.

Harry reaches into his pocket. It takes a little bit of effort, his arm doesn’t have enough space to bend. He extricates the package and holds it out. Ron and Hermione peer at it. Hermione unwraps the paper slowly. The pendant seems to pulse and glint, even in the dark. The only light comes from the spaces between the wooden panels that make the closet.

“ _Lumos_ ,” says Hermione. Ron recoils, but bumps into the wall behind him. The pendant almost comes to life in the light.

"Okay, don't touch it," says Harry. "It makes you feel all cold and funny."

"What is it?" says Ron.

"Dunno," says Harry, taking a deep breath. “This… will take a while to explain.”

Nearly ten days ago, Harry’s friends had decided to honour his coming of age by sending him on a no-magic treasure hunt around Muggle London on the eve of his birthday. The hunt had begun a few hours after Neville Longbottom’s birthday supper. Harry had feigned a fever, put a decoy in his bed, and snuck out of the house to take the Knight Bus to London to meet his friends. The first pieces of treasure had turned out to be presents for Neville, but as the seconds ticked away to midnight, Harry found himself hunting alone.

Somewhere along the way, he’d run into Dudley, and both of them had exchanged nods and begun to go their own way. Strangely however, they’d found themselves back together, hopelessly lost, and cornered by a Dementor.

Though he had been taught how to conjure a Patronus by an overeager Sirius and a reluctant Remus, Harry hadn’t been able to do much more than hold off the Dementor for long enough for him and Dudley to run out of the alley.

Harry had turned the events of the night over in his head so often that he knows he'll be able to regurgitate a perfect play-by-play if anyone asks. He still isn’t entirely sure whether he and Dudley had been bewitched or not.

He clears his throat. "Dudley found it. In the alley. We were attacked by a Dementor."

Ron's and Hermione's jaws drop.

"A Dementor?" says Ron sounding hoarse. "What – wha – aren’t t - b - but none of them are supposed to be outside Ministry control!"

"Well there was one in Muggle London that night," says Harry grimly. "I'm pretty sure Dudley and I were bewitched, because we were headed in the opposite direction, and neither one of us remembers what happened before it came at us."

"But a Dementor," says Hermione faintly. "In  _Muggle London_."

"How're you even alive mate?" asks Ron.

"Remus and Sirius taught me the Patronus last year remember?" says Harry. "I have a feeling it should go on the DADA syllabus."

"Well, if Dementors are gonna be swooping around everywhere…" says Ron apprehensively. “So how’d you manage? You’ve never tried a Patronus on anything close to a Dementor before have you?”

“I couldn’t,” says Harry. “I mean, I managed something. Nothing corporeal. But enough to keep them back for half a minute, and I grabbed Dudley and ran.”

He feels his heart hammering in his chest as he remembers sprinting down the alley, lungs screaming as they’d hightailed it towards the main road. “We’d just exited the alley. Dudley bumped into me and I almost fell over, and then they were on us, but then this other Patronus basically came out of nowhere and scared them off.” He takes a deep breath and exhales, feeling the tension grow in his shoulders.

Ron’s face is pale.

“But who?”

Harry shrugs. Hermione’s frown is deep, and she looks slightly confused.

Ron opens his mouth and then shuts it again, and decides to look at the pendant instead.

"What's that you reckon?"

"Told you, I dunno," says Harry. "I've never seen that sign before, have you?"

"Never."

The two look at Hermione, who is examining the pendant as closely as she can without touching it.

"I've never seen this before," she says. "But I'll have a look in the library when we get back to school. I can order some books too.”

"Reckon our parents would know?" asks Ron. 

"No," says Harry. "We're not telling them."

"Why not?” exclaims Hermione, looking up and accidentally shining her wand light straight into his eyes. “Harry, you could've died!"

"And they would flip out if they knew," says Harry, covering his eyes with his hand. Hermione lowers her wand. "Everyone's already scared enough as it is, I don't wanna add to it.”

Ron and Hermione exchange glances. Harry knows they’re thinking the same thing as he is. Everyone has been oddly on edge lately, and they’d all been given curfews since the summer began. To Harry’s annoyance however, not even Sirius will answer any of his questions.

"How's your cousin then?" asks Ron.

"He's been having nightmares," says Harry. "So have I, come to think of it."

"Well that's perfectly natural," says Hermione, "given the experience you've had. But of course, that's not to say that it's pleasant."

"Yeah," sighs Harry, wishing he could sit down. "I feel worse about Dudley though. At least I can talk to someone about it and not have people take me for a nutter."

"Yeah," says Ron. 

"Can I keep this?" asks Hermione, still peering at the pendant.

"Sure," says Harry. "But be careful."

Hermione wraps the pendant back in the paper and puts it in her pocket.

***

Supper is brilliant, as usual. Harry stares sadly at the rest of the food, wondering if he can Vanish the contents of his stomach so he can begin again. Next to him, Ron looks like he is thinking the same thing.

“Shall we head inside then?” asks Arthur. The adults murmur in agreement, and begin to stand.

“You’ll clear up won’t you?” says Molly to the rest of them, as James, Lily, Remus, and Sirius follow Arthur back inside.

“Noo…” mumbles Ron. “Can someone just levitate me to my bed?”

Fred and George load the cart with some of the empty dishes and wheel it back inside. Ginny follows, with an armful of glasses. Ron stumbles out of his chair and Harry stands up and stretches. He reaches to pick up a plate but Ron stops him.

“Wait,” he says. Harry gives him a questioning look but he simply motions for him to wait. Hermione has her eyes fixed on the house, and as soon as Molly goes inside and shuts the door, she waves her wand and levitates the rest of the dishes.

“Oh.”

Ron gives him a knowing grin and pushes his chair in. Harry performs a quick cleaning charm on the table as Ron aligns all the chairs, and they walk inside to find Hermione flicking her wand at the sink, so that the dishes wash themselves.

“Mum still doesn’t trust any of us with levitating the stuff back and forth,” says Ron, “but seriously, I mean…” He nods towards Hermione, as if to say, _anyone would be mad not to trust her_. Harry grins.

“Are you two going to help with the drying or not?” asks Hermione. Ron and Harry shuffle towards the sink and begin to dry the plates by hand.

Ginny walks into the kitchen.

“They just shooed me out of the sitting room,” she says, digging into her pocket and taking out what seems to be a mass of flesh-coloured string. “Fred and George still need testers for this, they’re a new batch, we might as well give them a hand.”

“Reckon they’re discussing something big then?” asks Ron, abandoning his plate.

“Yeah, we might finally find out why we all have curfews,” says Ginny, separating the strings and handing one to her brother.

“What are those?” asks Harry, putting down the plate he is wiping, as Hermione finishes with the dishes and stacks them on a rack to dry.

“Extendable Ears,” says Ron, handing him a string.

“How do you use these?” Harry asks, eyeing it apprehensively. “And how come I haven’t seen these before?”

“Oh, they just bring in stuff while you guys aren’t around sometimes,” says Ron, handing another string to Hermione. “Just put one end in your ear, and the other near the door. It’ll do the work.”

“What if we’re not meant to hear what they’re talking about?” asks Hermione hesitantly.

“That’s the point, Hermione,” says Ron. “And with Harry getting attack –” He breaks off when Harry flashes him a warning glance and changes tactic. “With Harry getting a _curfew_ too, it’s just weird.”

The four of them squeeze in by the door. Harry nearly gasps when he hears his mother speak as though she is standing right next to him.

" – really, Molly, it's fine."

"It's disgusting, that's what it is," says Molly.

"There are other people who have it a lot worse," says Lily darkly. "There was a family, living across from the Longbottoms..."

"Yeah I heard about that one," says Remus. "Two Muggleborn parents and their baby, wasn't it?"

"Tragic, that's what it was," says Arthur, sounding exhausted. "Sending in a cursed letter that incinerated the entire building? They were lucky to get out alive."

Harry’s heart begins to thump so loudly he’s surprised his friends can’t hear it. Next to him, Hermione suppresses a gasp. Ron squeezes her shoulder.

"They’re moving away from jokes and jinxes and into actual attacks now, so it’s beginning to raise a bit of concern," says Lily. "I'm lucky to still be dealing with this trash. At least people aren't attacking us or Harry. We’re getting our mail checked too.”

"Of course, the Ministry covered it up as usual," says Sirius bitterly. "Kingsley Shacklebolt tried to make an appeal on behalf of the couple. He was shot down."

"Yeah, I was there," says Arthur. "Apparently the Ministry has more pressing matters on their hands than, and I quote, _'investigating a jinx gone wrong'_."

“A jinx gone wrong?” exclaims Molly. “Their entire _house_ burned down, Arthurt, everything they owned, gone! They barely escaped with their lives!”

“It’s just how it is Molly,” says Lily, trying to sound reassuring, though Harry can hear the edge in her voice. “But there are people who’re against it. Powerful people. The Longbottoms have a lot of respect, and the Macmillans have been a great help ever since James convinced them.” She pauses for a moment, and Harry can almost picture her exchanging glances with his father. “He’s been convincing a lot of people lately.”

“Yeah, until Dumbledore ordered us all to stay home like good children and go to bed at eight every night," snaps James.

"You know it's for Harry's own good," says Lily immediately. "Once he's back at school, we won't have to worry about it."

"Just wish Dumbledore would sneak up on Riddle and Avada Kedavra him already, so we could go back to normal," James grumbles.

Ron swears under his breath, and even Hermione lets out something that sounds vaguely like “Merlin’s pants”.

"James,” says Lily warningly.

James sighs. "I know."

There is a tense silence. 

“How’d the job hunt go today, Moony?” asks Sirius.

“Brilliantly,” says Remus. “No one is hiring.”

“What happened to your job at the magazine?” asks Molly. “The Defence Alliance, was it?”

“Went bankrupt,” says Remus curtly.

Sirius lets out a string of swear words. “If it wasn’t for that damn Umbridge woman…”

“Reckon we can take her on?” says James. “She’s got to be easier than duelling Riddle, I bet we can off her in five.”

Sirius lets out a bark like laugh.

“James!” says Lily.

“Okay, maybe fifteen.”

Remus laughs sourly.

"Thanks, but I don't think offing Umbridge would help."

"Would make the rest of us feel helluva lot better though," says Sirius, and everyone chuckles. Silence falls over the room once again. Harry looks at Ron and Hermione, who look just as confused as he feels. He has no clue who Umbridge is, or why Remus can’t get a job, but he knows he will readily join Sirius and his father if they ever plan to attack her.

"The Defence Against the Dark Arts position seems to be free again," says Arthur thoughtfully. "Why don't you write a letter to Dumbledore?"

"Yeah, and start looking for another job while you're at it, we all know you're gonna be out by the year," says Sirius with another bark of laughter.

"I think Arthur's right, Remus," says Molly gently. "It's worth a shot. Dumbledore’s bound to take your situation into account."

"Not to mention that you  _are_  qualified for this Moony," says Lily. 

"School opens in less than a month," says Remus.

"He still hasn't found a teacher has he?" says Molly. "Give it a try, Remus. There's no harm."

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice do I?" asks Remus.

"Nope," says James. "And you can always give old Snivelly a kick in the arse from all of us."

"James!” says Lily, and this time, her tone sounds final.

"Okay okay, maybe not that, but at least you can keep an eye on him, see if he's not cursing Harry at every turn."

“He wouldn’t,” says Lily.

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” says Sirius. Harry snorts at this, and the other three laugh. His parents don’t know about Snape’s awful treatment of him at Hogwarts, and he prefers that it stays that way. Remus getting hired or not probably isn’t going to make too much of a difference.

As they gather up the Ears after the conversation turns to mundane matters, Harry thinks about the comments James made about duelling people. He knows they’re all competent; James works at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and though Sirius tends to shuffle from job to job, always complaining about how much he hates structure, the six months that he had spent working at the National Defence League had had his employers begging him to come back. Lily on the other hand works for the Charming Charmers Society, an organisation responsible for researching, inventing, and patenting new charms (and occasionally improving old ones). She often comes home with mountains of research parchment, which Sirius occasionally helps her with. Harry can’t imagine any of them duelling anyone at all.

“Oy, speaking of Snape,” Ron says all of a sudden, a look of dread appearing on his face. “Have you finished his essay?”

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edit tags as I publish each chapter. Feel free to point out any errors or inconsistencies :) and thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The night before they’re due back at Hogwarts, Remus and Sirius make supper. Lily had bet them two Galleons that they wouldn’t be able to come up with a decent meal and Sirius had cackled for a whole minute before retreating into the kitchen.

At half past seven, seduced by the wonderful smells that are wafting into his room, Harry gathers up his notes and essay and bounces downstairs. There is a huge plate of bread rolls on one end of the table, and a masterpiece of a roast chicken in the middle of it. Two plates of salad and a large pot of soup sit on the other end, and a tall cake dominates the counter.

“Pay up Mrs. Potter,” says Sirius with a bright grin, holding his hand out. Lily rolls her eyes and hands him the Galleons, but Harry notices her exchanging a sly glance with James and wonders if she made the bet with his godfather just so she and James wouldn’t have to make dinner themselves.

“Is Peter coming?” she asks. Harry sets his notes down. Sirius pockets one of the Galleons and tosses the other one to Remus.

“He declined again,” says Sirius. “Seriously beginning to worry about the fellow.”

"I don't think his mother's doing well, poor thing," says Lily, getting some plates from the cabinet and setting them down on the table. Harry takes a few bottles of Butterbeer from Remus and puts them down. "I gave him some food to take for her and told him about a new charm we've been developing that might help. He seems a bit peaky himself; I don't think he's getting much sleep."

"Maybe we should ask Dumbledore if it's worth paying him a visit," says James, dragging a chair out and sitting down. Remus follows. 

"Might as well," says Lily, passing around some cutlery. "He shouldn't be alone."

"Nervous about tomorrow, Moony?" asks Sirius. 

Remus snorts. "What's there to be scared about?"

"The sight of Snape's face," mutters James. Sirius sniggers.

Harry takes a seat opposite his father and skims the notes that Hermione has given him when they had met at the Burrow for lunch a few days ago. Despite originally having planned to do it on the Hogwarts Express, he figures that with his luck, he’s better off trying to finish it all tonight.

Ideally, he would have asked Lily to help, but he has a sneaking feeling that his procrastination will not be well received.

"Made any progress with the Instant Burn Recovery Charm yet Lily?" asks Remus. Sirius passes the plate of rolls to Harry, who takes two and passes it to James. He ladles some soup for himself and begins to skim over Hermione’s notes.

"No, we're having some trouble with that," says Lily, taking a knife to the chicken and carving out the side. "Seems someone's withholding information, and until we get a hold of that, it's not safe to proceed."  
  
"What happens?" asks Harry somewhat absently, one eye on his notes. The adults give him disbelieving looks. James raises an eyebrow and Sirius snorts.

"Hmmm. What d'you reckon could possibly happen if an Instant Burn Recovery Charm went wrong?" he says. Harry glares at him.

"It was just a question..."

"A question that makes me wonder whether it's worth sending you back to do your N.E.W.T.S at all," laughs James. Harry rolls his eyes, shoves a piece of bread into his mouth, and goes back to skimming the piece of parchment. 

"It's a bit odd thought..." begins Remus. Harry is only half listening; he squints at his notes, dips his bread into his soup and catches the end of Remus' sentence.

"...forgot to ask me? I mean, Dumbledore, forgetting?"

"He's probably got a lot on his plate," says James, as Harry puts his now soggy bread into his mouth. "Might be a great wizard, but he's only human. Besides, he's got about ten things to do at a time."

"Yeah," says Sirius. "But it's good that he was considering you, wasn't it?"

"Well no one knows about it yet," says Remus, and Harry thinks he detects a slight emphasis on the 'it', but wonders whether he’s overthinking things. His mind flits back to the conversation they’d overheard at the Burrow. 

"I've got you covered, don't worry," says Lily. Remus smiles gratefully.

"Speaking of Potions," says Lily. Harry’s head jerks up, and he starts when he sees his mother’s green eyes boring into his.

James is more casual about Harry’s work, leaving him be as long as he passes well, but Lily tends to push him harder. Whenever he leaves his homework undone, it isn’t just Hermione’s voice he hears in his head, it’s Lily saying, “you never know when circumstances might change, and you’ll need to have worked for something.”

Harry tries to assume a neutral expression and covers his notes with his free hand. “What about Potions?”

"Could you let Fred and George know that their Love Potions aren't approved products and that they're going to have to send them in for analysis and adjustment?" says Lily. Harry frowns.

"Why, what's wrong with them?"  
  
"You can't sell Love Potions on the open market, we've had too many complaints from people being coerced into doing things they didn't consent to," says Lily. "The Ministry's just classified them, they're now a Class C Non-Tradeable - I forgot to let them know while we were at supper last."

"Okay, I'll let them know after I go back," says Harry, who, like his parents, was irritated about their inability to communicate via owl post or Floo Powder. Dumbledore's orders.

"They can brew a lighter version for now," says Lily, looking pensive. "But they have to make sure it doesn't get stronger with time and doesn't cause more than momentary infatuation. We’re pushing to get it bumped up to a Class A Non-Tradeable."

"How momentary is momentary exactly?" asks Sirius.

"Ten minutes maximum," says Lily.

"But that takes all the fun out of it!" exclaims Sirius. Lily shoots him a glare.

"Not so fun when one moment you're sitting down at a nice restaurant and the next minute you're waking up in a strange room with all your clothes Vanished."

Sirius winces and turned bright red. Remus and James flinch too. Harry pauses with his bread halfway up to his mouth, and lowers it again. 

"Thought so," says Lily.

The next morning, Harry sets off for Kings Cross with Remus. Both Lily and James have received strict instructions not to accompany him to the station, which has left them both irritable. 

"Since you can't write to them," says Sirius, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder while they stand at the front door. "Take this."

Harry takes the package from him and opens it. It is a small square mirror.

"What's this?"

"It's a two-way mirror," says James, smiling fondly. "I've got the other one upstairs."

"We used to use it when we were in separate detentions,"* grins Sirius. Harry laughs, and shoves it into his backpack.

Lily walks over to him and gives him a tight hug. Harry has to crouch slightly to hug her now, but in her embrace, he still feels like he’s eleven and going off to Hogwarts for the first time.

"Be good sweetheart,” she says. “Remember what I said about your N.E.W.T.S, don't slack off, you might really need them."

"And make sure you bring back the Cup this year," says James, as Lily lets him go. "I mean honestly, I understand that the team wasn't really up to scratch last year compared to Ravenclaw, but you've no excuse now, this is your final year, and if you don't win, it's all on your head."

"No pressure of course," says Sirius. Harry rolls his eyes. James gives him a quick hug.

“Make sure you give Snape a good kick from me, yeah?” he says.

“Wouldn’t forget to if I wanted to,” says Harry, thinking of his essay with a sinking feeling and knowing that it’s much more likely that Snape’s the one kicking _him_.

Sirius gives him a quick hug as well.

"Ready to go?" asks Remus.

Harry turns back to say a final goodbye to everyone, only to see Lily rushing inside the house. He frowns.

“Lily?” calls James. There is a clattering and a loud hoot from inside the house, and Lily emerges, holding a cage with an furious Hedwig inside it. Harry’s jaw drops, and Remus laughs.

“Harry, how could you?” she chastises, with a small smile on her face. “Poor thing was almost frantic.”

“I thought you taught the boy responsibility, Prongs,” says Sirius, shaking his head and tutting. “What a model of parenthood you are.”

Remus grabs his trunk and Harry takes the cage from his mother and fixes it on top of his own.

“Are we Apparating?” he asks.

Sirius laughs. “With that amount of luggage?”

A short, squat figure appears by the front gate, and shuffles towards them. Sirius’ grin grows wider.

"Wormtail!"

"Wormtail!" echoes James, and the two of them leap up and skip towards their friend.

Peter Pettigrew looks tired and worn out, but he manages a small smile. "Hello everyone."

"Hi, Peter," says Lily. "How's your mother? Would you like something to eat?"

"That would be nice thanks," says Peter.

"Best be going," says Remus, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder as Lily leads him inside.

"Good luck," says Peter. "To the both of you."

"Love you," says Lily, blowing them kisses as they trudge down the path and away from the house. Harry huffs, wishing he could levitate his trunk instead of having to drag it down the street. Hedwig’s annoyance isn’t helping. She hoots shrilly and flaps her wings every few seconds and Harry begins to doubt whether his Sticking Charm will hold.

Once they'd reached the main street, Harry turns to Remus, wanting to ask if they'll be taking a taxi, but Remus has already stuck out his wand hand.

"Uh oh..."

BANG!

The Knight Bus roars into existence. Hedwig flaps her wings even more irritably, if such a thing was possible, and hoots. Remus looks around furtively. The area is empty, but he’s not sure if any passing Muggles may be peering through the curtains.

"Might need a Permanent Sticking Charm for our trunks at this rate," mutters Harry.

"'Ello!" says the conductor, Stan Shunpike. "Just you two today?"

"Yes, thank you," says Remus, as Stan helps them with their trunks. Harry undoes the Sticking Charm and places Hedwig carefully on his lap, with another hand ready to grab the pole near the armchair if he needs to. Remus takes a seat next to him. They’re barely settled before the bus roars off with another loud BANG.

"Not many from 'Ogwarts this morning," says Stan. "You lot are the first - King's Cross is the next stop."

"Thank god," says Harry to himself. He can’t wait to get back to Hogwarts and forget about Dumbledore's cryptic warnings, and be able to fly across the grounds instead of being stuck in the house with two very irritable parents who were liable to blow up at him for nothing.

“Excited for your seventh year then?” asks Remus.

“Yeah,” says Harry, stomach sinking as he thinks about his awful essay again. Snape will have his skin, but then again, if Remus is gonna be around…

“Are you looking forward to going back?” he asks. Remus chuckles.

“Alone? Not in the least,” he says. Harry frowns, but then he sees Remus’ twinkling eyes. “I’m only joking. It’s going to be good to be back. Hogwarts is one of the few places where, well… it’s home. And teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts will be interesting. Never thought I’d be teaching it.”

“What did you think you’d be teaching?” asks Harry.

“I don’t quite know actually,” says Remus, looking thoughtful. “I never fancied myself as a teacher.”

The bus lurches and Harry flings his arm around the nearest pole to keep from sliding off the seat. Hedwig flutters in her cage and glares at Harry.

“Look, I’m sorry okay,” he says. “I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

Hedwig does not respond to this.

There is another loud BANG and Harry almost tumbles headfirst to the floor. They have arrived at King’s Cross.

“You’d think,” says Harry, as they get off the bus and pick up their luggage, “that people would’ve come up with a less violent way of travelling by now.”

“I hear they’re working on it,” says Remus, as the Knight Bus leaves with another loud BANG. “It’s the price you pay for speed I suppose.” He walks away to get a trolley. Harry looks around. There’s no one he can recognise. He glances at his watch. It’s only twenty to eleven.

The platform is relatively empty. A few Muggles wait for the train on Platform 10. The train on Platform 9 zooms past, and announcements blare over the speakers. It is a relatively warm day. A handful of sunrays peek out from behind a thin cloud.

Remus comes back with the trolleys and Harry helps load their trunks onto them. Placing Hedwig’s cage on top, they walk onto Platform 9 ¾. The area was mostly empty, with just a few first years milling around with their parents. He and Remus haul their trunks onto the train.

“I’ll go sit up from,” says Remus. Harry nods and drags his trunk to the back of the train. The good thing about being early was that he can choose a compartment and sit there instead of having to squeeze in with everyone else.

He slides into a compartment at the very back and hauls his trunk onto a shelf, placing Hedwig’s cage on top of it. He spends the next few minutes trying to coax her into accepting an Owl Treat from him, and is slightly relieved when she finally accepts. Sighing, he steps down and sinks onto the chair, feeling a sudden drowsiness overcome him. He puts his legs up on the seat and stares out of the window, eyes fixed on the few people outside the train. The figures and the brick wall of the platform begin to merge together, becoming blurry shapes as his eyelids droop…

A tap on the glass shocks him awake. He turns around to see Neville, looking apologetic with a lock of hair plastered against his forehead.

“Sorry to wake you,” he says. Harry grins and motions for him to come inside. Neville smiles and drags his trunk in, clutching Trevor in his free hand. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Harry helps him get his trunk onto the shelf.

“I can’t wait to be back,” says Neville, sitting down and reaching into his own rucksack, his other hand still struggling to keep a hold of Trevor. He takes out a flask of water and tries to unscrew it with one hand.

“Me too,” says Harry. “Managed to get a hold of any new plants this time? You never did tell us what happened with the trip.”

“Trip never happened,” says Neville, sounding resigned. “Dad nearly went beserk when great-uncle Algie showed up, all ready to head off to Algeria with me.”

“Didn’t he tell your parents?” asks Harry. Neville shakes his head.

“Apparently not,” he says. “But it wouldn’t have mattered usually. We weren’t meant to be gone for very long anyway…” He sighs, still struggling with the flask.

“Need help?”

“Please.”

Harry unscrews the top off the flask and hands it back to Neville.

“Thanks,” he says. A group of boys sprint past their compartment, sneakers banging on the train floor, their shrieks muffled behind the glass doors.

“It’s just weird,” says Harry, taking the flask back from Neville and screwing the lid back on. “I don’t get why they’re all so on edge.”

“Good thing they didn’t realise we were all gone on your birthday,” laughs Neville. “We probably wouldn’t be coming back if they had.”

Harry laughs as well. “How’d you manage to get back in? I set off a ward when I was trying to sneak back upstairs. Had to leap into the bathroom to avoid Dad.”

“Hannah and Susan kept a look out while I was going back in,” says Neville.

“Lucky,” says Harry. The train is filling up with people now, and he wonders where the rest of his friends are.

Some people drop by to say hello; Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan sit with them for five minutes, and Harry notices the way they keep finding excuses to touch each other. Luna Lovegood flits in, apparently lost, and babbles on about Nargles to Neville for a minute before gliding out again. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown wave and say a quick ‘hi’ as they pass, and Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones drop in for a chat.

“Any news on the elections?” asks Ernie. He is already dressed in his robes, his Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest.

Harry and Neville shake their heads. The news that Barty Crouch was stepping down as Minister for Magic had gotten everyone very excited, although Lily and James had seemed to be a little more preoccupied with Dumbledore’s attempts to keep them locked up indoors. Ernie on the other hand, had been talking about nothing but politics ever since the news had broken near the end of their sixth year, and his constant theorising had begun to get on everybody’s nerves.

“Nothing, except the fact that they’re happening next year,” says Harry, who couldn’t be more interested in politics if it rode a broom and raced him for the Snitch. “Why?”

“Well,” says Ernie, puffing out his chest and looking at Susan glowingly. “We’ve just learnt that Susan’s aunt is running. Amelia Bones. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Nothing’s confirmed yet,” says Susan quickly, twirling her long plait around her finger. “But we’re hoping she will.”

“A better choice than Lucius Malfoy, that’s for sure,” says Ernie defiantly.

“Lucius Malfoy’s running?” exclaim Harry and Neville in unison, looking horrified.

“So the rumours go,” says Ernie, lowering his voice a little. “Either way, he’s not going to have a lot of popular support, he’s a little too open with his disdain for Muggles, if you know what I mean.”

Everyone in the compartment grimaces. Harry and Susan look at each other. Both of them have one Muggleborn parent, and Harry knows that her family has been getting just as much unwanted media attention as his, if the headlines are anything to go by.

“He isn’t going to swing the Muggleborn vote,” continues Ernie. “And a lot of the half-bloods don’t like him very much either. No one’s going to vote for someone who isn’t going to give them a fair shot.”

“You’d be surprised,” says Susan darkly. “Quite a few people we know have been starting to make up some very interesting backstories for themselves.”

Ernie frowns. “Who would be stupid enough to do that?”

Before Susan can answer, the door to the compartment slides open again, and Justin Finch-Fletchley pokes his head inside.

“Sorry,” he says. “But have any of you seen Hermione?”

Everyone shakes their head.

“Where _is_ Hermione?” asks Harry. “And Ron. I haven’t seen either one of them.”

“You didn’t come to the station together?” asks Ernie. Harry shakes his head.

“No, I came with Remus,” he says.

“Who’s Remus?” asks Susan.

“Dad’s friend, uh, he’s going to be our new DADA professor.”

“Ohh…”

“Anyway,” interrupts Justin, looking frazzled. “If you see her, can you tell her that I’ve been looking for her?”

“Sure,” says Harry. Justin shuts the compartment door, but it bangs harder than any of them expect. Neville’s eyes widen in shock.

“What was that about?” asks Ernie. Susan shrugs.

“Haven’t really heard much from him over the summer,” she says. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

They fall silent for a moment. Harry stares at his sneakers, wondering if he should change into his robes sooner rather than later.

The door slides open again, and they all look up. Hannah Abbott’s standing in front of it, and she turns bright red.

“Oh hi, everyone,” she says. “Neville, I wanted to ask you about… something…”

“Oh, right, yes, okay,” says Neville, leaping up. Harry looks at him and notes with some surprise that his face is also pink. “I’ll be right back,” he says to Harry.

Susan suppresses a smile and Neville leaves the compartment.

Ernie raises an eyebrow, but looks slightly amused.

“That… was…”

“Not _entirely_ unexpected,” says Susan.

“What?” says Ernie and Harry.

“It was _totally_ out of the blue,” exclaims Harry, and Ernie nods in vigorous agreement.

“It was not,” scoffs Susan. “Have you not seen them during Herbology? This was a long time coming.”

“So what, they’re together now?” asks Ernie. Susan shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

“Huh…” says Ernie, looking thoughtful. Harry frowns as he tries to recall a single instance where Neville and Hannah seemed to be more than friends. They did spend a lot of time together, but he’d never noticed anything out of the ordinary, until today.

The sound of talking and laughter grows louder and Ernie stands up.

“I should probably head to the Prefect’s carriage,” he says. “If Hermione comes by, tell her I’m there already.”

“Alright,” says Harry. Both Ernie and Susan stand up and leave the compartment, leaving a lonely silence behind.

It’s not long before Ron and Hermione walk into the compartment, though at different times. Ron comes in first, followed by Ginny, who hands him a package of sandwiches before leaving the compartment. A minute after Ron settles down in his seat, Hermione walks in looking frazzled.

“Where’s your trunk?” asks Ron, sitting up straighter.

“In the Prefect’s carriage,” says Hermione. “Ernie found me just as I came on board and I have to go back, I just came to let you two know that I’m actually on the train.”

“Oh okay,” says Ron, sinking back into his seat. Hermione starts to head out, but frowns and steps back to look at Ron.

“You aren’t coming for the meeting?” she asks. Ron shakes his head.

“Same thing every year,” he says. “You’ll let me know what goes on.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow, but oddly enough, doesn’t make a fuss.

“Oh, Justin was looking for you,” says Harry.

“Alright, thanks,” says Hermione.

“Why was he looking for you?” asks Ron, but Hermione has already rushed away.

Ron turns to Harry, who’s staring out of the window again.

“Did he tell you what he wanted her for?” he asks. Harry shakes his head.

“Didn’t mention.”

“Huh.” Ron crosses his arms and stares out of the window. Harry raises an eyebrow.

“You two okay?”

Ron snorts. “Oh fine, just brilliant.”

Harry decides not to pursue the matter further.

Neville only comes back after the train leaves the station, and by then, Ron and Harry are deep in conversation about next year’s British Quidditch League’s qualifying games.

“So as it turns out,” says Neville, leaning back in his seat, Trevor croaking quietly in his hands, “we’re getting two new DADA teachers. One for N.E.W.T students only.”

“Where’d you hear that from?” Harry asks.

“Malfoy,” says Neville. “Overheard him on my way back. His father’s on the board of governors, he’d know.”

“Reckon you know who Remus is gonna teach?” asks Ron. Harry shrugs.

“Who knows. Dunno who the other teacher is either.”

“Uh, Malfoy said his cousin was teaching this year too... some Regulus Black or something, I’m not entirely sure,” says Neville with a small frown. “I don’t know how they’re related exactly, but yeah, that’s what I heard.”

Ron looks at Harry, who shrugs.

“Sirius never mentioned him,” he says.

“Bloke hates his family, that’s probably why,” says Ron.

“Mmm, good point.”

“Anyway,” says Neville, “no one will be worse than Lockhart.”

Ron lets out a loud laugh. “I miss that guy. Wonder what he’s up to these days.”

“ _Witch Weekly_ said he was found passed out in Knockturn Alley the other day,” says Neville. “Apparently he’d just been wondering about since he escaped St. Mungo’s.”

“He was in St. Mungo’s?” asks Harry. “When?”

“Yeah, didn’t you know?” asks Neville. “Turns out, he’d left Hogwarts because someone threatened to expose him as a fraud. He’d been taking credit for everything he’s written about, and modified the memories of the people that actually did it.”

“What a twisted old bastard,” says Ron. “Knew there was something wrong with him from the moment I lay eyes on him.”

“How’d he get to St. Mungo’s then?” asks Harry again.

“Well,” says Neville, looking amused. “When the story came out, some people weren’t too happy about it.”

“Obviously,” says Ron.

“Obviously,” agrees Neville. “So someone, I think it might’ve been the wife of the guy who got rid of that banshee infestation or whatever, she tracked him down and hexed him right in the –”

Ron explodes into peals of laughter, and Harry grins.

“How’d she get away with it?” he asks.

“A fine, I think,” says Neville. “But to be honest, I think the Ministry let her get off lightly because Lockhart’s a prick, but they can’t exactly chuck him into Azkaban for what he did.”

“But wouldn’t modifying a whole bunch of memories count as an imprisonable crime?” asks Harry. “I mean... did they ever get their memories back?”

“Doubt it,” says Neville. “But they revoked all his rights to his books and took all his gold, so I guess they thought it was enough.”

“What a loser,” says Ron, wiping his eyes. Neville and Harry both chuckle, and they lapse into casual conversation.

The food trolley is long gone before Hermione returns to the compartment, already dressed in her robes, with her Head Girl badge pinned neatly on one side. She gives the boys a swift smile before sitting down next to Harry and unfurling the magazine in her hand.

“Long meeting,” says Ron, trying to sound nonchalant, but Harry catches the edge in his voice and wonders what’s wrong.

“Had to have a chat with Justin afterwards,” says Hermione, not looking up from the magazine. “Then Ernie cornered me and wanted to ask about my opinion on the election candidates. You know how he is.”

“What did you and Justin need to talk about?” asks Ron. Harry raises an eyebrow at him. Even Neville looks confused.

“Oh, nothing important,” says Hermione. Harry notices the way she seems to grip the edge of the magazine tighter as she says this.

“Nothing of importance that took that long?”

“Oh for god’s sake, Ronald, if you’re going to interrogate me all afternoon then I might as well sit in a different compartment!” snaps Hermione, leaping from her seat and glaring at Ron before storming out, shutting the compartment door with a loud bang.

“What’s going on?” asks Harry, a little more pointedly this time. Ron looks surly.

“Nothing,” he mutters, and fixes his eyes on the window. Harry and Neville exchange glances.

It’s normal for Ron and Hermione to bicker, but Harry knows there’s something that his friends aren’t telling him, but he cannot for the life of him understand what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This is almost a direct quote from Order of the Phoenix, figured it was worth a little mention. 
> 
> If there are any errors in the text, please feel free to point them out :) I edit story tags as I publish new chapters. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione does not return to the compartment for the rest of the journey. Ron’s subsequent brooding keeps Harry and Neville from talking too much. Neville falls asleep halfway through, and after stopping Trevor from escaping, Harry stares out of the window, his mind occasionally wondering towards the Demetor attack as he wonders how to write to Dudley.

When darkness begins to fall, they rouse Neville and change into their robes. Harry has to dig through his trunk for a few minutes before he finds his Quidditch Captain badge. He pins it hastily just as the train pulls into Hogsmeade station.

“That’s lopsided,” says Ron, whose own badge isn’t looking much better. Harry huffs and smooths down the front of his robes. The three of them walk out of the compartment and trudge through the thick crowd. They can hear Hagrid calling for the first-years as the rest of the school heads towards the horse-less carriages. Neville manages to find a carriage for the three of them, which they share with a pair of Hufflepuffs that Harry doesn’t know, and the ride to Hogwarts is just as silent as the train journey.

“So what exactly is going on between the two of you?” whispers Harry, once they step off the carriages and Neville gets lost in the crowd walking into the Entrance Hall.

“I don’t know,” sighs Ron. “It was fine at the beginning of summer, but then she was spending so much time with Ernie and the Ravenclaws, and we barely had time to talk –”

“But you know they were working on their papers,” Harry points out. “She was bound to be busy.”

“Yeah, but…” Ron sighs, and Harry notices that he looks less agitated and more defeated. “I just feel like she’s losing interest in me, mate. She’s got so much to do, and so much she _can_ do. And here I am, just…”

“Look,” says Harry. “We both know Hermione doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. Remember third year, with Trelawney?” Ron chuckles, and Harry smiles at the memory. “If she didn’t want to stay with you, she would’ve left already mate. That’s a given.”

“Yeah,” says Ron, the amusement fading from his face. “Yeah I suppose you’re right.”

“She’s just got a lot on her plate at the moment,” says Harry. “You know how she is when she’s stressed out.”

Ron doesn’t say anything to this, but looks significantly less upset as they walk into the Great Hall. Clouds are gathering on the ceiling, and outside, they can hear the rumble of distant thunder. Harry’s stomach growls, and he wonders how many first years there are this year. Last year, they’d had to wait nearly twenty minutes for the Sorting to end before they could get to the food.

When Hermione finally enters the Great Hall, she sits next to Neville, with Ginny opposite her, and does not spare a second glance at Ron. Harry grimaces, but decides not to speak about it till they get to their dormitories. Ron’s expression is unreadable, for the most part, which worries Harry a little.

The Sorting is mercifully short – this year’s batch of first years look more like five year olds than anything. Harry notices Remus at the very end of the table, and smiles at him when he catches his eye. He scans the rest of the table for new faces, and jolts when he spots the person sitting next to Snape.

“Who’d you reckon that is?” asks Seamus from across Harry.

“New DADA teacher, probably,” says Harry, still unnerved. The man is deep in conversation with Snape, who seems positively gleeful.

“Bloke looks an awful lot like Sirius doesn’t he?” whispers Ron, speaking for the first time since sitting down. Harry nods. If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn that the man was Sirius’s own brother, but Sirius had never said anything about having a brother, so he knows there’s no way of knowing for sure.

When the last person is sorted and the Hat taken away, the Headmaster stands and the Hall falls silent. His face is alight with a beaming smile, and Harry relaxes. Weird Sirius lookalikes aside, it’s inexplicably reassuring to have Dumbledore present.

“Although there are a few announcements I must make, I truly believe that food must be digested before information,” he says, and a few people cheer. Laughter rings across the Hall, and even Ron smiles a little. “Welcome, first years. I hope your time at Hogwarts is valuable and not entirely devoid of scuffles and scrapes.”

There is more laughter as he sits down again. The food appears on the plates; dishes full of stews and vegetables and three different kinds of meat, alongside pies and the usual flagons of pumpkin juice. Harry helps himself to some pork chops and roast potatoes. Ron fills his plate with food, but eats silently.

“Hey Harry,” calls Dean. “When’s tryouts?”

Two seats away from Harry, Ginny turns to look. “Yeah, let me know too.”

“There’ll be a team meeting sometime tomorrow, probably,” says Harry. “Dunno when we can have tryouts, they haven’t sent the schedules this year, but let’s see if we can do it this weekend, or next week.”

“Cool,” says Dean with a grin. “Just for Chasers then?”

“Yeah,” says Harry, chewing his potatoes. “But I was thinking about holding tryouts for a reserve team. So next year’s captain won’t have to replace everyone.”

“Sounds reasonable,” says Ginny, turning back to her food. Dean gives him a thumbs up. Harry nods, and continues eating. Ron is still silent.

After the food vanishes from the plates, Dumbledore stands up again. Harry takes a deep breath and tries to look alert, though his brain is pleasantly relaxed and keeps coaxing his eyes closed.

“Before we begin,” says Dumbledore, “I would like to make a few important announcements. Firstly, we welcome two new teachers to our staff this year. Professor Remus Lupin, who will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to all students up to O.W.L level, and Professor Regulus Black, who will be taking N.E.W.T level classes. I wish both of them the very best.”

There is a smattering of applause, and Harry’s heart sinks. He had been looking forward to having Remus teach him. He stares at Regulus smiling at something Snape has said, and has a sneaking feeling that this year is going to be a lot tougher than he had hoped for.

“Secondly,” says Dumbledore, and the applause dies away. “I am pleased to announce, that one of our students has, secured a place in the Wizengamot as the British Youth Representative. As this is the first time this has occurred in thirty years, I would like to express my sincerest congratulations to the student who has achieved this high honour.”

Ron nudges Harry, and they both look at Hermione, who is sitting up straighter, hands clasped, her eyes fixed on Dumbledore. They’d been visiting the Grangers when Hermione had gotten her letter, but she’d made them keep their mouths shut about it, even though Ron was all for throwing a massive party and boasting to everyone they knew.

“Congratulations,” continues Dumbledore, “to Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff House, our esteemed Head Boy.”

Harry feels like he has been punched in the face. Next to him, Ron is looking equally dumbfounded. The table next to theirs erupts in a storm of deafening cheers. People begin to chant Ernie's name and Hufflepuffs from all across the table are scrambling to cheer and clap him on the back.

Ron and Harry turn to look. Ernie looks shell-shocked, and in danger of being smothered by a burly boy who won't let go of him. Justin Finch-Fletchley is standing on the bench, whooping, and Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones have tears in their eyes. 

Harry glances at Hermione, who is frozen in place, hands still clasped, eyes now on Ernie, who seems to be slowly registering what has happened. Ron looks confused, but his expression is quickly growing angry.

“Well done Ernie,” says Dumbledore, and the cheering dies down, though the Hufflepuffs are still cheering softly. “And now for a few general announcements. If you wish to keep a modicum of sanity, know that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds at all times. Our caretaker Mr. Argus Filch has also asked me to remind you that magic is banned in the corridors, and I implore you all to take note of the list of prohibited items, open for easy viewing for all students on the door of his office. This list includes the recently popular brand of joke items from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

In the churning mess of his mind, Harry feels a small sense of satisfaction at knowing that Fred and George are bound to get more demand for their products now that Filch has officially banned them. His moment of happiness is short lived however, as his thoughts turn back to Hermione.

He and Ron had seen the letter themselves; they’d seen the Ministry seal on it. Had someone sent it in as a joke? Maybe the applicants didn’t get official letters. It might explain why Ernie looked so surprised.

“Quidditch Captains will be given their tryout schedules tomorrow morning by their Heads of House,” Dumbledore says, and Harry feels a small sense of relief. At least he won’t have to stress about this until tomorrow.

As the Headmaster wraps up his speech, Harry notices Remus looking pensive, and a little troubled. McGonagall too, is staring at the Gryffindor table with an odd look on her face.

The tables begin to clear out and the prefects lead the first years away. Hermione is still sitting down. Neville walks a few steps before realising she isn’t following, and calls her, but she ignores him.

Ron clambers over the table to get to her side and tries to coax her up. Hermione seems rooted to the bench. Her eyes are fixed on the table and Harry slides across the bench so he’s sitting opposite her.

“Let’s just go inside and we’ll figure it out,” says Ron quietly. Hermione doesn’t budge. Ron looks at Harry, who shrugs. He sits down next to her and waits for the Hall to clear out.

Remus approaches them. “Is everything alright?”

Harry and Ron look at him, but don’t say anything. Hermione’s hands have begun to shake slightly, but she keeps her gaze on the table, and doesn’t say a word.

Remus slides onto the bench next to Harry. “What’s going on?”

Harry glances at Ron, who gives him a small nod.

“Earlier this summer, Hermione got a letter from the Ministry of Magic,” he says, and tries to explain the situation as quickly and concisely as possible. Remus’ frown deepens, and he looks concerned.

“Well, as far as I know, successful candidates are always informed via owl,” he says. “So I’m not entirely sure what’s happened here.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Hermione, when is your birthday?”

“September nineteenth,” says Ron immediately.

“Perhaps they wanted to give it to someone who won’t turn eighteen so soon,” says Remus. “It’s a possibility – but a terribly careless mistake if that’s the case.”

“Miss Granger.”

All four of them look up to see Professor McGonagall staring at Hermione with a gentle expression on her face.

“If you would be so kind as to follow me to my office,” she says. Hermione nods. Standing up, she leaves the Great Hall without so much as a backwards glance towards the others.

Ron looks crestfallen. Harry reaches out and pats his forearm.

“She’ll come around,” he says. “I think we need to give her time.”

Remus is still frowning, but he gets up from the bench and begins to walk away too. Harry scrambles up and catches up with him.

“Hey,” he says quietly. There are still a few students milling around near the doors to the Great Hall, but it’s mostly empty and quiet. “What do you reckon?”

“I’m really not sure,” says Remus as Ron walks around and joins them. “But I can tell you this. I didn’t want to mention it while she was there, but she did get the position. The letter wasn’t a forgery. James found out a week after they’d decided.”

“What?” exclaims Ron, his voice echoing in the empty hall. Harry shushes him. “So it’s sabotage then. Macmillan’s sabotaged her.”

“Can’t point fingers just yet,” says Remus. “From the looks of it, he was just as blindsided as you were. Either that, or he’s a brilliant actor.”

“Doubt it’s the latter,” mutters Harry. They reach the Entrance Hall.

“Well, I’ll be off then,” says Remus. “I’ll see you both around.”

“Sad that you won’t be teaching us,” says Harry.

“Not really,” says Remus. “This way, no one will say anything if they know we know each other personally.”

“Huh…” says Harry, who had not considered this.

“Well then,” says Remus. “Good night.”

He heads towards the staircase and Harry and Ron make their way towards Gryffindor Tower. As they walk, Harry notices Regulus Black leave the Great Hall. He fixes Harry with a stare so reminiscent of Sirius but with none of the warmth, that it chills him all the way up to his dormitory.

***

The next morning, Hermione sits next to Ron during breakfast.

“How are you?” asks Harry. Ron passes her the jug of orange juice, and she accepts it with a quiet thank you.

“I’m not going to lie,” she says. “I’ve been better. But there are better things.”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Hey, at least this way you can actually have normal weekends. Ernie’s gonna have to go all the way up to London every two weeks, the poor bastard.”

Ron snorts, and a tiny smile grows on Hermione’s face.

“Thanks,” she says. Ron passes her a plateful of toast, and she takes a slice.

The post arrives, and Harry glances up, more out of habit than anything, before realising that he won’t be getting any letters. Sighing, he turns back to his food.

“Our new Defence teacher, Regulus,” says Hermione, looking at Harry. “Is he – he’s related to Sirius isn’t he?”

“Probably,” says Harry. “But Sirius never mentioned him.”

“Well, he’s certainly related to the Malfoys,” says Hermione darkly. “I heard Malfoy bragging about it in the Entrance Hall five minutes ago.”

“Prat,” says Ron. “Neville mentioned it too.”

“Why’d Dumbledore hire two teachers though?” asks Hermione, as the post owl drops a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ onto the table.

“Who knows?” says Ron. “Either way, they’ll both be gone by the end of the year.”

Professor McGonagall reaches them and hands them their timetables.

“The Quidditch schedules, Potter,” she says, handing Harry another piece of parchment. “See that you make the best use of it. It would be a pity to have to give up the Cup for the second year in a row.”

“No pressure,” says Ron with a grin.

Professor McGonagall motions for Harry to stand and ushers him aside.

“As faculty, I am not supposed to be telling you this, Potter,” she mutters, “and I would appreciate it if you kept it quiet for the time being, but the Headmaster has been speaking with the Head of the Quidditch League, and it is very likely that recruiters may be coming to watch the games.”

Harry’s heart leaps into his mouth and he stares at her, gobsmacked.

“What?”

“Now, of course, if Gryffindor wins, it will reflect brilliantly on you, as Captain,” she continues. “But Potter, speaking as the person who got you on the team in the first place, I believe you need to put on the performance of your life this year.” Her expression is serious and betrays nothing, but her eyes have an odd gleam in them that Harry only sees when she discusses Quidditch with the team. “Make sure you impress them.”

She walks away, leaving Harry staring at her retreating back, unable to form coherent thoughts.

“Hello?” says Ron. Hermione is also staring at him questioningly. “What was all that about?”

Harry turns to the both of them and blinks for a few seconds, before scrambling back on the bench.

“They might be bringing in recruiters,” he whispers, still half numb from shock. “From the Quidditch League.”

Ron pales, but Hermione beams.

“Oh, Harry, that’s brilliant isn’t it?” she exclaims.

“Yeah, but no one knows yet, so keep it quiet,” says Harry, his heart beating faster as he thinks about the state of his team. Even though he only needs a single Chaser, he’s worried about the reserve team. It had been difficult enough trying to find people last year.

Ron groans. “What a bloody awful morning,” he says, looking at his timetable. “Double DADA and double Potions?”

“At least we don’t have Potions again till Wednesday afternoon,” says Harry, finally looking at his timetable.

“Even so,” says Ron, looking miserable. “I’m seriously regretting taking all those O.W.L tutorials with your mum. Reckon we can nick a Time Turner so I can tell myself not to try so hard?”

Harry laughs, and Hermione smiles slightly. The summer before their fifth year, Lily had insisted that Harry sit with her and go through all his schoolwork. In a desperate attempt to make the experience more bearable, he’d dragged an unwilling Ron into it. Granted, Lily was a much better teacher than Snape ever was, and was probably the sole reason for their unexpected ‘O’, but even he had to agree with Ron. Taking N.E.W.T level Potions was the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

“Oh, by the way Harry,” says Hermione. “Have you written to your cousin yet?”

“No,” says Harry, who hadn’t thought about Dudley since the train. A crushing sense of guilt engulfs him. “How can I write to him now? If I send Hedwig, Vernon will probably have her shot.”

“They’ve installed a Muggle postbox at the post office in Hogsmeade,” says Hermione. “They put it in last spring. They have envelopes there if you need them.”

“How does _that_ work?” asks Ron, looking incredulous.

“Well, you write the address down on the front,” says Hermione, “and you can ask the cashier to give you a location slip. You fix it onto the envelope and put it in the postbox, and the letter will show up at the post office on the other end.”

“Does it work?” asks Harry.

“Yes it does, I’ve tried,” says Hermione. “The slips are all colour coded, it’s all very fascinating.”

“Alright then,” says Harry, and the conversation turns to more mundane matters.

After breakfast, they head back to the common room to gather their things, and then traipse along to the second floor, where their Defence Against the Dark Arts class will be held.

Harry is nearly bursting with anticipation; if this man really is Sirius’ brother, it will be interesting to finally witness the difference that tore him apart from his family. Harry has heard the stories often enough, and he knows that if the Blacks are anything like the Malfoys, Sirius is better off without them.

Malfoy can be heard bragging loudly as they approach.

“He’s my mother’s cousin and he’s brilliant, of course, but very considerate of the company he keeps, unlike some of our more reckless family members.” He glances at Harry as he says this, but Harry simply rolls his eyes. He’s used to Malfoy’s jabs at Sirius, and he’s stopped caring a long time ago.

Ernie walks up to them. Hermione’s face clouds over, but she attempts a smile.

“Congratulations,” she says. Ron still looks like he wants to punch Ernie, but Harry gives him a stern look.

“Thank you,” says Ernie, looking a lot less proud of himself than Harry would’ve expected. He shakes Hermione’s outstretched hand. “I wasn’t expecting it at all, I can tell you that. When I didn’t get the letter –”

“A letter?” asks Hermione quickly.

“Yes,” says Ernie. “Traditionally, the Representatives are informed via owl post, so when I didn’t get mine I assumed I hadn’t been chosen.” He pauses, looking a little contemplative. “Perhaps they’ve changed the way of things.”

“Perhaps,” says Hermione darkly, but Ernie doesn’t catch her expression.

By the time the rest of the class arrives, there is still no sign of their teacher. Ron glances at his watch.

“Reckon the bloke got lost?” he mutters to Harry, who shrugs.

As if on cue, classroom door opens, and everyone falls quiet. Regulus Black is standing inside.

“Come in,” he says. His tone is unreadable, but his voice doesn’t sound like Sirius’, which is both comforting and jarring for Harry. They file in silently.

Only two windows near the blackboard are uncovered. The rest are all hidden with black curtains, and the flickering candlelight at the back of the classroom makes an odd contrast with the bright sun that’s filtering through the front.

The door shuts quietly behind them. Harry sits next to Ron, and Hermione sits in front of them, next to Padma Patil. Professor Black strides towards the front of the room and taps the blackboard with his wand once. A series of diagrams appear on it.

“I presume you have covered the basics of Unforgivable Curses?” he asks. His voice fills the classroom effortlessly. Everyone nods. “Good. Today we shall be looking at them in depth. Who can tell me when and why these spells were classified as Unforgivable?”

Hermione’s hand shoots up in the air. Professor Black motions for her to speak.

“The Unforgivable Curses were first classified as such in 1717, and they’re classed as such because they carry an automatic life sentence to Azkaban.”

“A textbook response,” says Professor Black. “But correct nonetheless.”

Malfoy sniggers loudly, and Harry resists the urge to hurl his inkpot at his head.

“Speaking in terms of morality and wizarding ability,” continues Professor Black, ignoring Malfoy, “who can give me a plausible reason as to why these curses were outlawed?”

“Well that’s quite obvious isn’t it?” says Hermione, recovering fast. “All three curses can cause irreparable damage to a person. Use of the Imperius Curse over a long period of time can cause mental degradation, and the Cruciatus Curse can cause mild to severe, and in some cases, permanent insanity. Of course, in the case of the Killing Curse, that’s a crime of the highest order –”

“True,” says Professor Black, cutting through Hermione’s answer. “But no Unforgivable Curse can be cast properly without the right intention. I highly doubt any of you could kill me now if you tried. Same applies to the Imperius Curse and the Cruciatus Curse. So why class them as such?”

“Because there are people who _do_ have the ability and the desire to cast them,” says Hermione. “It’s a matter of communal protection.”

“Communal protection, or spell policing?” asks Professor Black. Ron raises an eyebrow. Muttering breaks out amongst the class. Most people look shocked. Malfoy looks intrigued. Harry is simply confused.

“Spell policing?” echoes Ernie, sounding flabbergasted. “We’re talking about magic of the darkest kind!”

“Then why do we learn Defence Against the Dark Arts for?” asks Professor Black, his face impassive as he stares at the class. “This subject is part of your core curriculum, has been for centuries, and yet, the average witch or wizard cannot produce a standard Shield Charm or a half-decent Patronus.”

“I don’t see how Shield Charms and Patronuses are going to help against Unforgivable Curses,” says Terry Boot.

“Not everyone has the same level of magical ability,” says Hermione. “It’s irrational to expect everyone to be able to defend themselves.”

“Irrational and unrealistic,” says Ernie. “And besides, this is peacetime. I don’t see why we need to be able to defend ourselves against Unforgivable Curses.”

“It would be foolish to expect that things will remain so,” says Professor Black. “One can be attacked even during peacetime.”

“Isn’t Avada Kedavra indefensible anyway?” Ron pipes up. “So I don’t really see how not having a ban will help.”

“I suppose you can argue that it is partly spell or social policing,” says Blaise Zabini lazily from across the room. “It’s like the new ban on love potions. Just because a few idiots feel the need to force affection because they can’t get it themselves, doesn’t mean we’re all pathetic enough to do it.”

“Love potions are used by much more than just ‘a few idiots’, Zabini,” snaps Padma. “They’ve banned it for good reason.”

“But it ties in with Professor Black’s question,” says Zabini. “Just because a few idiots get out of control, do we all have to suffer for it?”

“Then you’re basically implying that you use love potions on other people…”

As arguments begin to break out, Harry, still confused, looks at Professor Black, who is observing everyone with a hint of a smile on his face, almost as though he is enjoying the chaos he has caused.

Harry frowns, and thinks back to the question he has asked them. Why are Unforgivable Curses classed as such?

If he really thinks about it, it really is for the safety of the wizarding community at large, but isn’t that a non-brainer? There really isn’t anything more to it. Why is Professor Black wasting time on distracting arguments?

Harry raises his hand. Professor Black taps twice on the board with his knuckles, and the class goes silent. He motions for Harry to speak.

“I’m sorry Professor,” he says. “But I don’t understand the point of your question.”

Everyone’s heads turn towards him. Hermione looks incredulous, and Ron looks quizzical. Professor Black however, smiles broadly.

“I expected someone to ask me that earlier than this,” he says. “It’s good to know that all of you don’t simply take things for granted here.”

The class remains silent for a moment. Then, Ernie speaks up.

“So what, you were just testing us?”

“What is life, if not a grand test?” asks Professor Black. “The vast majority of the wizarding community remains unquestioning, ignorant, easily placated whenever they hear anything that agrees with their point of view, ready to stand and fight when they hear something that goes against it.” He takes a few steps forward, till his face is illuminated by the flickering candles, instead of the sunlight.

“We cannot progress as a community if we do not question the status quo,” says Professor Black, his voice lower than it was before. “Question, always question what you have heard, what is right, what is wrong, what is considered standard, acceptable, and what is considered immoral or unethical.” He takes a few more steps towards the center of the room, and heads turn as he walks.

“Without questioning, without continuously arguing against the norm, we cannot ever hope of achieving progress. Without questioning, there will be no innovation, without questioning, there will be no evolution.”

His eyes turn towards Harry.

“If you do not question how and why things are the way they are, do not ever expect success beyond standard mediocrity,” he says, staring at him. Harry stares back, trying not to feel too unnerved. “If you do not push the boundaries, push beyond what you have considered normal, you will never reach your full potential, and you will never discover what society can become.”

He turns heel abruptly and walks towards the board, leaving everyone dumbstruck. Ron looks around at Harry, who gives him an equally confused look.

“Unforgivable Curses,” says Professor Black, tapping the board again. “We shall be covering their origins, their history, the legislation, and, of course, their composition. Quills out please, and pay close attention. This is more complex than it looks.”

Harry takes out his quill, feeling very wrong footed and confused, and thinking that perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts with Regulus Black might not be anything like what he was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edit story tags as I publish new chapters. 
> 
> Please let me know if there are any errors or inconsistencies :) thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_Dudley,_  

_I hope things are alright. Haven’t managed to find out anything new about what happened, but the good news is, it’ll probably never happen again. I’ve asked around about what to do if you’re still getting nightmares, and apparently the best way through is to talk about it._

_So, I guess, if you need to talk, let me know. I’ll see what I can do._  

Harry pauses with his quill hovering over the parchment, wondering if he sounds too casual, but not knowing how else to phrase it. He glances out of the window for a moment; after two days of solid rain, the sun is finally out again, and he’d give anything to go outside and sit under a tree instead of staying inside.

Hermione shifts in her armchair next to him. She has a book in her hand, and two others stuffed in the armchair. The cushion has long since relocated to the floor. It’s one of their joint free periods on a Thursday afternoon, and they’re in the Gryffindor common room, trying desperately to keep up with their homework – or at least, Harry was, until he abandoned it half an hour ago, under the pretext of finishing Dudley’s letter. Hermione is surrounded by copies of _Transfiguration Today_ , and she squints at the fifth draft of her paper, pausing every now and again to scratch something out and make additional notes. Ron, on the other hand, has gone to the dormitory for a nap **.**  

Harry stifles a yawn behind his hand and stares at what he’s written. He imagines the letter reaching the Dursleys, and Vernon getting his hands on it before Dudley does. Sighing, he looks at Hermione, whose frown is in danger of carving out permanent lines in her forehead. 

“Hermione?” 

She grunts in response, eyes still fixed on the parchment in front of her. 

“How can I seal a letter so that only the person I’m writing to can read it?”

Hermione tears her eyes away and struggles to focus on Harry for a moment.

“I suppose there’s always  _Persona Non Grata_ ,” she says contemplatively, blinking slowly. “But that’s been known to backfire; it’s not the most reliable of charms…”

“No, that’s not gonna work,” says Harry. “Can’t have Vernon tearing it to shreds before Dudley can get his hands on it.”

“There’s always the option of putting a password on it,” says Hermione. “You know, like on your dad’s map.” 

Harry looks intrigued. “Can you do that?” 

“Not off the top of my head, no,” says Hermione, stifling a yawn. “I’ll have a look around for the spell.” 

“Thanks, Hermione,” says Harry gratefully, leaning back in his chair.  

Harry had once found Fred and George with a map that they’d stolen from Filch’s drawer. James had happened to walk in on them at that moment and yelled so loudly that all of them had leapt out of their seats and the rest of the household had come running. As it had turned out, he’d been excited that his old map had been found again, and spent hours looking over it with the twins, explaining how he’d created it and talking about the possibility of making another one. Fred and George had given it to Harry once they were back at school.

Hermione has put her book away, and is staring into the fire. Harry looks out of the window again. He can see a sliver of the lake glinting in the sunlight.

“What d’you reckon we’ll be doing for graduation?” he asks. Hermione stirs slightly, but her eyes don’t leave the fire. 

“Dunno,” she says sleepily. “Last year’s one is going to be hard to beat.” 

It’s tradition for the students leaving Hogwarts to travel back to Hogsmeade station by boats over the Great Lake for the final time, and the seventh years always like to show off a little when they leave. James and Lily often reminisce about a time when the seventh years had somehow managed to persuade the Giant Squid to swim through with the water display they’d created (a feat no one else has repeated, or attempted to since then). But aside from the occasional deviation, most graduation displays focus solely on spell casting.

Last year’s seventh years had cast a net of gold stars over the lake so that the boats looked like they were gliding through space. They’d also conjured images of all of their faces with their names under them, and to top it off, had set off a whole crateful of fireworks that spelled out HOGWARTS 1990 – 1996. The entire spectacle had been stunning. Harry has no idea what his year is going to do, or if they can pull off something like that at all.

Harry yawns again, this time not bothering to stifle it at all. He feels a sort of deep internal exhaustion that he has come to associate with NEWT level education.

“Made any progress on the pendant yet?” he asks Hermione, as he leans over to scratch out a spelling mistake. 

“The pendant?” Hermione looks confused for a moment, but then shakes her head and sits a little straighter. “Oh the pendant! No, but I’ve been looking. I haven’t seen the symbol anywhere, or anything that comes even close.” She sighs, and puts a hand on her forehead, leaning back in the armchair again. “But some of my books haven’t arrived yet. They’ll be here this weekend.” 

“Okay.”

“It’s strange though,” says Hermione, sitting up again. “I’ve been examining it as closely as I can, but there’s nothing about it that I recognise.”

“Maybe it’s a Dark object,” suggests Harry.

“That’s what I thought,” says Hermione. “So I went into the Restricted Section, but really, there’s not very much to go on. The closest I can come to is Salazar Slytherin’s locket –”

Harry sits up straight in his chair, all traces of drowsiness gone. “What about it?”

“Well, this isn’t it,” says Hermione, also looking slightly more alert. “I found an illustration, a crude one though, but there are loads of descriptions in multiple books, and nothing mentions a skull. And besides, most sources record it as being solid gold. This one’s silver and goblin made too.”

“Oh,” says Harry, deflating. “Well, you’ll keep looking, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” says Hermione. Her frown is back, and she looks worried. “I wonder what it is, I really do.”

“You and me both,” says Harry.

The portrait hole opens and Ginny comes into the common room. She spots Hermione and Harry by the fire and walks over to them. 

“When are tryouts?” she says, tapping Harry on the shoulder before sitting on the third armchair. Harry groans. 

“Saturday, at half four,” he says. “And I can have more on Sunday evening if I want.”  

“You’d better put up the notices fast,” says Ginny. “People are going to want to prepare a little.” 

Harry gestures at the piles of books and parchment strewn around them. 

“Do I look like I have time to put up notices?” 

Ginny laughs and looks around for a piece of spare parchment. Taking Harry’s quill, she writes across it in block letters. 

 

**QUIDDITCH TRYOUTS**

**SATURDAY AFTERNOON** , **4.30 SHARP**  

 **POSITIONS OPEN ON FIRST TEAM:**   **CHASER**   

 **POSITONS OPEN ON RESERVE TEAM:**   **ALL**  

 **PLEASE ATTEND ONLY IF YOU ARE INTERESTED AND ABLE**  

** TIME WASTERS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!**

 

“That’s certainly… authoritarian,” says Hermione, glancing at the sign for a second before returning to her paper. 

“Figured I should make things as easy for our dear captain,” smirks Ginny. She stands up and walks over to the notice board, pausing for a moment before fixing the sign right in the center of it. Harry laughs as she heads back towards them and sinks back into her chair, head back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. 

“NEWTs killing you too?” he asks. 

“Urgh,” groans Ginny. “Don’t mention it. I already had to go to the hospital wing twice because of Herbology, and don’t even get me started on DADA.” 

“Oh yeah, you have Regulus too,” says Harry. “How is he with you lot?” 

“He’s… interesting,” says Ginny, scrunching up her nose. “I’d be more enthusiastic if he didn’t set us such fiddly little essays. I don’t know what he’s looking for to be honest.” 

A sleepy Ron comes downstairs, rubbing his eyes. He spots the group by the fire and joins them.  

“You’re down early,” says Hermione. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” says Ron, leaning over the back of her armchair. The circles under his eyes look more pronounced than usual. Hermione looks concerned. 

“Come for a walk with me,” she says, taking his hand. Ron yawns hugely and follows her out of the common room. Ginny watches them go. 

“Does it feel like everyone’s getting together these days?” she asks. 

“Wha – huh?” asks Harry, who had been staring into the fire and hadn’t been paying much attention to Ron and Hermione.  

“Neville and Hannah, Dean and Seamus, even Colin Creevy’s gotten himself a girlfriend,” says Ginny. “I saw them sitting together at breakfast two days ago.” 

“Merlin,” says Harry. “Reckon we ended things too quickly?” 

Ginny laughs and Harry grins. They both know things couldn’t have worked out between them, and quitting while they were ahead was the best decision they’d made. But that doesn’t make it easy when almost everyone seems to be falling in love around them, and they’re both still resolutely single. 

“Tell you what,” says Ginny. “Let’s make a pact to get a date with someone by the end of next week?” 

“Blimey,” says Harry. “How am I supposed to get someone to go out with me by the end of the week? Between this,” he says, gesturing at the books and parchment, “and Quidditch, I barely have time to sleep.” 

Ginny snorts. “Just stand in the middle of the Great Hall with your Firebolt.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that’s gonna help.” 

“You’d be surprised,” says Ginny with a smirk. “But anyway. Last one to get a date has to get the winner drinks at the Three Broomsticks.” 

“You’re on,” says Harry. Ginny laughs.

“Anyway,” she says. “Do you actually have any plans for tryouts? Because Demelza and I were talking yesterday, and she had a few ideas – if you don’t mind hearing them.”

“Fire away,” says Harry, sitting up. “I could use some new ideas.”

“Great,” says Ginny, and launches into her strategy.

The week rolls by lazily and the weather grows colder and rainier, but Saturday afternoon is mercifully clear. Harry and his team trudge onto the pitch where a large group of hopefuls are waiting. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume it was half the house. Luckily, all of them seem to be Gryffindors – so far.

“Alright everyone,” he mutters, as they approach. “Let’s face the rabble.”

The rest of the team kicks off into the air, but Harry stays on the ground. He instructs the rest of them to divide into groups and do laps around the field, just like last year. This time however, he has nearly all his team members behind him. On Ginny’s recommendation, he’s using them to judge from the skies, to make sure they spot things that he misses.

He’s very pleased that Cormac McLaggen has left, because he doesn’t think he could stand another year of him coming back to try out and get himself on the team even though Ron’s still Keeper. He smiles slightly at the memory, and wonders if Hermione ever told Ron about how she Confunded him. The answer, he thinks, as he stares at Ron hovering above the goalposts, is likely to be a firm no.

Harry watches the groups fly around the pitch, and focuses on separating the good ones from the bad. Once the first round is done, he divides them into groups and puts them on opposite ends of the pitch. Ginny and Jimmy Peakes oversee one side, whilst Ron, Demelza Robins, and Ritchie Coote supervise the other. Harry flies across both sides to help out, and after five minutes of Quaffle passing, he sets Ron by the goal hoops and has all the Chaser hopefuls attempt to score. Those who aren’t trying out for Chaser join the spectators in the stands.

It’s almost a no-brainer. Dean Thomas puts nearly ten goals past Ron and finally lands a permanent spot on the team, after having been on standby all of the previous year. Harry is reasonably pleased with his reserve Chasers too; Jemima Wood, Christy Marshall, and Reena Khan, three feisty fourth years that are reminiscent of the Angelina-Alicia-Katie trio. He is also satisfied with the fact that none of them have let the jeers from the stands affect their performance - always a handy skill to have on the pitch.

The Beaters take a little longer to choose, and some people have begun to leave by the time Harry has made his decision. Having been so used to Fred and George’s dynamic, Harry finds himself a little biased against duos that cannot pull off a similar level of coordination, but he manages to find two reasonable ones; Gideon Michel, a dark, hulking boy with a very precise aim, and Alia Shakur, a smaller, slighter girl with short black hair who hits harder and farther than anyone might’ve expected.

Their Keeper is a surprising find; Billy King, a third year with freckles to rival the Weasleys who manages to save one of Ginny’s more complex shots, and succeeds in saving five out of a total of ten goals put past him by the team’s Chasers. Brimming with enthusiasm and potential, Harry knows it’s just a matter of training.

He hasn’t made plans to pick a Seeker during the first round of tryouts, feeling a lot like he’s going to need more time and light to find one. As evening falls and people begin to leave, Ginny and Demelza pack up the balls. A cool breeze blows over the pitch, threatening to turn chilly at a moment’s notice. Harry is talking to the reserves when a loud swear distracts him. He looks around to see Demelza looking frustrated, whilst Ginny is mounting her broom.

“What happened?” calls Harry.

“Snitch got loose,” says Ginny, already in the air. Swearing, Harry mounts his Firebolt and kicks off to follow her.

It has grown dark, and he can barely see anything remotely resembling the Snitch, even though everyone else has lit up their wands in the hopes that it may help. If anything, the wandlight is a distracting beacon on the pitch.

Ginny’s flying as high as the top of the goalposts, leaving Harry to search closer to the ground. Squinting in the darkness, he wonders if it’s worth letting it be and coming back tomorrow, because he knows the Snitch won’t fly off beyond the pitch. Nevertheless, a vision of Madam Hooch scolding him for his irresponsibility the next morning fuels his enthusiasm.

As he flies a little lower, passing the spot where the rest of them are standing, he hears Ron swear behind him, and turns around to see what’s wrong. Everyone is staring towards the far end of the pitch in awe.

Harry follows their gaze. A tiny boy mounted on one of the old school brooms, is zooming up as fast as he can along the left goal post. Ginny, who’s halfway across the pitch, stops in her tracks.

Everybody gawks as the boy accelerates, flying almost vertical, his arm outstretched. Harry can barely see the Snitch, but he catches a glint every few seconds. It flies through the hoop, and the boy manages to steer himself between the goal posts, aligning himself horizontally again, before snatching the Snitch and holding it aloft as though he’s just won a real match.

Everyone cheers and Harry finds himself beaming as all thirteen of them rush towards him. Ginny is the first to reach him, and she gives him a pat on the back as they both fly down.

“That was bloody brilliant!” exclaims Ron, as they touch the ground. The boy hands the Snitch to Ginny as everyone crowds him and congratulates him, but his eyes are fixed on Harry. He is thin, brown-skinned, dark haired, and looks a lot smaller than his age. There is a hopeful look on his face, and once the team clears away, Harry tries to keep his happiness from exploding out of him as he approaches the boy.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Sanjay,” says the boy looking nervous. “Sanjay Gupta. I – I saw the Snitch flying away and I thought I’d – I’m sorry if I wasn’t meant to…” He looks a little hesitant, and he’s eyeing the broom like it might explode in his hands. “I’ve never played Quidditch before, I’m Muggleborn, see, but I saw it, and I thought I might help.”

Harry sticks out his hand and Sanjay stares at it.

“Don’t apologise,” he says. “Welcome to the Gryffindor Reserve Team.”

Sanjay’s eyes look like they’re about to fall out of his head. His jaw drops as he stares at Harry. The rest of the team is beaming.

“Are you – you serious?” he says. “I can be on the team?”

“Well, yeah,” says Harry, his arm still outstretched. “I mean, unless we were all hallucinating at once. You’re a natural born Seeker.”

Sanjay still looks shocked.

“B-b-but,” he stammers, “they told me that, even if I tried out, you wouldn’t pick me, because they didn’t let Muggleborns play, but I wanted to play so much, so I tried, because I’ve read Quidditch Through the Ages, and I –”

“Hang on,” says Harry, dropping his hand as the rest of the team makes noises of shock and disgust. Demelza looks horrified, and Ginny and Ron look furious. “Who told you that Muggleborns aren’t allowed to play Quidditch?”

Sanjay trembles. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “One of the fourth years, I think. We were in the common room, and I was telling my friend that I wanted to play, and… yeah…”

“Well they were wrong,” says Harry hotly. “Muggleborns are definitely allowed to play.”

“Yeah,” says Demelza. “I’m proof.”

“So am I,” says Dean with a scowl.

“And me,” says Gideon the Beater, looking ferocious.

“Me too,” says Reena, one of the new Chasers.

Harry stares at Sanjay, who seems more at ease by this firm display of support.

“Look,” he says. “If you don’t want to play, that’s alright, but if –”

“I want to,” says Sanjay quickly. “If I’m allowed, I want to.”

“Then you’re in,” says Harry. “And if anyone ever says something like that to you again, you report straight back to me. Okay?” Sanjay nods, and Harry continues. “Or Ron here, he’s a Prefect, he can help you out. Our Head Girl, Hermione Granger, I think you’ll know her by now, she’s Muggleborn too, and she’ll definitely be able to do something about ignorant pricks who go around spewing bullshit.”

“Or you know,” says Ginny. “Just come to the rest of us. We’ll deal with them.”

The rest of the team murmurs in assent. Sanjay looks more reassured, and he nods. Harry pats him on the back.

“First training session tomorrow morning,” he says to the group at large. “I expect to see all of you down here at ten.”

The team nods and disperses. Harry watches the three new Chasers chatting to Sanjay as they all walk back to the castle. He and Ron take the crate of balls and three other brooms back to the broomshed.

“If I find out who said that crap to him, I’ll hex them,” snarls Harry.

“Right behind you mate,” says Ron, who looks grim. “I mean, I thought the Ravenclaws or the Slytherins would get behind that kind of bull, but to have it come from a Gryffindor?”

Harry huffs. “Doubt we can pretend all’s well now,” he says. They approach the broomshed and he pries open the door. “If it’s coming from inside Gryffindor, I want those idiots dealt with.”

“Hermione’ll blow her top if we tell her,” says Ron. “And it’s the last thing she needs, on top of NEWTs, and Head Girl stuff, and all the papers she’s working on.”

“I know,” says Harry with a sigh. They set the crate down and put the brooms away. Dusting his hands, he follows Ron out of the shed, locking the door behind him.

“She’ll need to know though,” he says finally. “She’ll find out on her own otherwise, and honestly, I’d much rather she found out through us than from someone who calls her something awful.”

Ron looks contemplative for a moment, but Harry knows he won’t disagree. They walk slowly back inside the castle, a tense silence growing between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edit tags as I go along. If there are any errors in the text, please feel free to let me know, and thanks for reading :)


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